


Silk Road

by FrostyEmma



Series: Travels on a Lonely Planet [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Sharon Carter (Marvel), China, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Female Friendship, Kissing, Lesbian Sharon Carter, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, On the Run, POV Sharon Carter (Marvel), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Road Trips, Romantic Friendship, Sharing a Bed, Travelogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyEmma/pseuds/FrostyEmma
Summary: Natasha is looking at her, a small smile playing over her lips. “So are you wedded to your Ikea purchases?”

  Sharon snorts. Folds her arms. “Are you hating on my swirling onion pattern rug?”

  “Your rug is making me dizzy.” Natasha stands, and Sharon can’t help but notice the way the sunlight catches in her red hair. “I’ll be happy never to see it again.”
Sharon and Natasha go on the run in the hinterlands of China. Between the dumplings, the breathtaking scenery, and the frigid hotel rooms, their friendship develops into something more intimate. (And eventually Steve and Sam crash the party.)Sort of a sequel to Banana Pancake Trail, but can be read in any order.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sororising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/gifts).



Sharon is not completely surprised, but still pleased to find Natasha waiting in the living room of her flat in Berlin. She’s sitting on the bright orange couch that Sharon had once thought was kind of funky looking, but now just looks garish when serving as Natasha’s backdrop.

“Ikea special?” Natasha asks her, gesturing to the couch and the coffee table and the shag rug with the weird, swirling onion patterns. (Sharon had never thought the rug looked particularly stylish, but it had come down to that one or the ugly lollipop one, and so less hideous won the day.)

“Every bit of it.” Sharon shrugs. “I got transferred to Berlin, I needed to furnish a place fast. The Germans don’t even give you an oven when you rent.”

Or cabinets, sometimes, but she had gotten lucky there. The cabinets were of a weird, futuristic, plastic-on-plastic design, damn ugly and too small, but at least they had come with the place. Unlike the light fixtures and the fridge and the oven, and yes, Sharon’s first week in Berlin had entirely consisted of multiple trips to Ikea while also attempting to settle into a new job.

Natasha is looking at her, a small smile playing over her lips. “So are you wedded to your Ikea purchases?”

Sharon snorts. Folds her arms. “Are you hating on my swirling onion pattern rug?”

“Your rug is making me dizzy.” Natasha stands, and Sharon can’t help but notice the way the sunlight catches in her red hair. “I’ll be happy never to see it again.”

A beat, then, “So why are you here?”

Natasha looks at her as though the answer should be obvious. “The boys blew out of the airport an hour or two ago. Now, unless they had time to swing by and pick up their confiscated goods, someone helped them out.”

The question feels ridiculous on her lips, but some things are worth asking. “You here to arrest me?”

“I’m here to see how much you want to help out.” Natasha hesitates a moment, then, “It’s going to go down. Badly.”

…

“Understatement of the year,” Sharon tells her less than thirty-six hours later, as they help Steve break his friends out of an underwater prison in the middle of the goddamn ocean.

…

They scatter after that. Steve and Sam take Barnes to Wakanda and then disappear. Sharon and Natasha do the same. She doesn’t keep track of where Barton and Maximoff and Lang go.

Sharon is not at all displeased that Natasha decides to go with her.

For the first few weeks, they travel in what feels like grim, yet purposeful silence, talking when needed and only about food or plans. This suits Sharon just fine. She’s gone from respected CIA officer to wanted fugitive with dizzying speed, and she needs the time to process the change. 

It helps that they never stay in the same place for more than three days. She feels the steady drumbeat of ‘wanted fugitive’ with every midnight run, every last second disappearance from a hotel or apartment, and with every person willing to take a pile of cash in exchange for no questions and a car trip over a border.

She’s happy to let Natasha take the lead for a while, and before long, two months have passed.

In southwest China, they take a eight hour bus ride over winding mountainous roads from the sprawling capital city of Chengdu to Jiuzhaigou, a valley of breathtaking beauty and traditional Tibetan culture.

Here, in a little Tibetan homestay run by an old woman and her two English speaking grandsons, they can rest.

Sharon’s command of Mandarin Chinese is rudimentary. She spent a lot of time learning German and Russian and French, but a hell of a lot of good that does her now.

“Jiuzhaigou.” She places her backpack down on one of the two beds in a small room on the second floor of the homestay. Through the window, she can see chickens pecking around the yard. “Nine Dragon… River?”

“Nine Dragon Valley.” Natasha seats herself off the other bed, rummages through her backpack for a moment, and pulls out a packet of sesame crackers. “It’s a national park. And while the Chinese don’t like to admit it, northern Sichuan province is just as Tibetan as Tibet.” She holds out a sesame cracker.

Sharon takes the cracker and crunches on it thoughtfully. “So why are we here?”

Natasha smiles. “Because it’s very, very touristy.”

Sharon raises an eyebrow at that. “And again I ask, so why are we here?”

“We’re going to stay here a few days and then travel up to Langmusi in Gansu Province.” Natasha pops a cracker in her mouth and leans her back against the wall. “Also very Tibetan, lots of temples, lots of homestays, and much easier to travel to than Tibet, as it doesn’t require an extra visa. So tourists love it.”

“Okay.” Sharon throws up her hands. “So we’re tourists?”

“Exactly.” A smile quirks at the edges of Natasha’s mouth. “Why would a couple of wanted fugitives hang around national parks and temples in the backend of China? But a couple of foreign tourists on the Silk Road?”

“Gotcha.” 

All the energy seems to drain out of her at once, and Sharon sags onto the bed. If they can just rest a little while…

Neither of them are prepared for how bitterly cold the room is at night. Sharon wakes up shivering, and by the moonlight filtering through the dusty window, she can see Natasha curled up and doing the same.

“Hey,” Natasha stage-whispers. “Are you asleep?”

“Yep.” Sharon snorts and draws the thin blanket tightly around her body. “This is colder than I expected for July.”

Natasha raises up her own blanket, and it takes Sharon a moment to catch on. Too long, and Natasha snaps, “Come on, you’re letting all the cold air in.”

That’s all it takes for Sharon to hop into Natasha’s bed, and with two blankets and two bodies pressed together in a small bed, it doesn’t take long for them to warm up.

“I’ve been in touch with Rogers,” Natasha says without preamble, and Sharon doesn’t bother asking how or why. “He wants to get the band back together somehow.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Sharon murmurs. She can smell Natasha’s shampoo, and it’s an enticing mixture of floral and spice. Something that she picked up at a supermarket in Chengdu, probably, but it fits Natasha perfectly.

“We’ll meet with them after Langmusi,” Natasha continues. “Further up north in Xiahe.”

“Right-o.” Sharon doesn’t entirely mean to be flippant, but laying there next to Natasha, smelling the intoxicating scent of her shampoo and feeling warm and cozy, sends her drifting into peaceful sleepiness. 

“And then we’ll all wear clown suits,” Natasha says, “and dance the Macarena.”

“Nice try.” A lazy smile floats across Sharon’s mouth. “But nobody dances the Macarena anymore.”

“Well, you can’t fault a girl for trying,” is the last thing Sharon hears before she falls asleep.

…

They have a few days to spend in the Nine Dragon Valley, and so they end up buying a one day pass for the national park. The old woman packs them each a lunch and one of the English speaking grandsons drives them to the park and promises to pick them up when the park closes.

The park is astonishing in its wild, overgrown beauty. The trees are achingly green and the lakes are such a tourmaline blue that Sharon swears they’ve been photoshopped. 

They sit with their lunches - homemade barley bread and sliced of cold chicken and bottles of sweet tea - on a large, flat rock overlooking one of the topaz gemstone lakes. 

“You know,” Natasha says through a mouthful of chicken, “I feel like I’m actually on vacation.”

Sharon takes a swig of the tea - it’s tooth rottingly sweet, and she’ll be glad for a glass of water later. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on vacation.”

“I can.” Natasha shakes her head. “Never.”

“We should enjoy it while we can.” Sharon rips off a hunk of barley bread and tastes it. Not bad at all. 

A strange smile plays over Natasha’s lips and she looks at Sharon for a long moment. “I am.”

For reasons Sharon can’t quite articulate, her face grows warm and she can’t help but smile and studiously focus on eating another hunk of barley bread. 

That evening, they share the bed again. Because it’s cold, of course.

…

A bumpy, seven hour bus ride brings them into Langmusi, a sleepy village surrounded by green mountains that bump against the sky and flanked by two enormous temples built in the Tibetan gompa style.

They are deep in the heart of Tibetan territory now. Prayer flags flutter in each doorway. Saffron robed monks and pink robed nuns, all with shaven heads and wearing fur lined boots, can be seen on every street. The faithful come to make pilgrimages to the temples, to sample authentic Tibetan cuisine, and to breathe in the fresh air after the choking smog of the big cities.

And yet, no one gives Sharon or Natasha a second look.

“There are enough _lao wai_ around,” Natasha mutters, as they weave their way through the afternoon crowds, packs heavy on their backs. “And we’re not the loud, partying kind.”

Sharon can’t help but notice that Natasha checks them into the one loud, partying hostel in the village anyway, the kind that advertises foreign beer and banana pancakes on a large chalkboard outside and features a pool table and beanbags in the common area. They get a private room though with a private bath, and that’s good enough.

After they freshen up, they walk through the village and find a restaurant that has open air, rooftop seating. They take a table and order a two plates of momos - steamed Tibetan-style dumplings, one of ground beef and the other tofu and vegetable - and a pot of tea. 

Sharon promptly puts half the momos away. “Okay,” she says unapologetically through a mouthful of tofu and vegetable, “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started.”

Natasha’s no slouch though, and they end up ordering two more plates and another pot of tea.

“I miss a good hamburger.” Sharon drains off her tea, pops another momo in her mouth, and doesn’t care how charming she may or may not look. “But these are damn good.”

Natasha smiles. “All this traveling suits you.”

“Probably because I’m with you,” Sharon says casually, but her stomach flutters all the same.

Natasha looks down at her tea, but she’s still smiling.

…

They explore both temples over a few days. They roll the walls of well-loved prayer wheels and view the bodhisattva figures sculpted out of pungent ghee. They pet friendly sheep in the vast temple courtyards and have halting conversations with curious schoolchildren. They leave a handful of money in each temple donation box.

On the third day, they take bottles of water and a two plastic bags of momos and hike a few hours up one of the mountains until they’re overlooking the entire village.

“We’ll be meeting up with Rogers and Wilson in Xiahe soon.” Natasha twists the cap off one of the water bottles, takes a sip, and passes the bottle to Sharon. “How do you feel about that?”

Sharon looks at her for a moment before taking a drink. “How should I feel about that?”

“You tell me.” Natasha shrugs, maybe a little too casually. “Once upon a time, I wanted to see the two of you get together. I thought it would be good for you both.”

“Well, once upon a time feels like a lifetime ago.” Sharon draws her knees up and stares down at the village. “You know, I can make out the individual prayer flags from here.”

Natasha waits.

Sharon rolls her eyes. “We kissed exactly once. It was…” She searches for a word and settles on “fine.” 

“Fine?” Natasha raises an eyebrow. “If that isn’t damning with faint praise. Don’t let Rogers hear you. You’ll bruise his ego.”

A huff of laughter escapes Sharon. “It was fine. It was one kiss. A perfectly fine one kiss that tells me he’s a lot more interested in his friend Sam and I’m lot more interested in…”

“In…?” Natasha prompts.

“Are you hungry?” Sharon opens one of the bags of momos. “I’m hungry. And yes, I’m being deliberately difficult.”

“I’m not,” Natasha says, and leans forward suddenly and kisses her.

The kiss takes Sharon by surprise, but it’s a pleasant, welcome surprise, and she leans into it, deepens it. Natasha’s lips are soft and full, and Sharon brings a hand to the back of her head, tangles her fingers in locks of windblown red hair. A moment later, Natasha cups Sharon’s face with both of her hands.

They kiss forever, and when they finally pull apart, Sharon is slightly breathless and Natasha’s eyes are sparkling.

“That was…” Sharon starts, and Natasha smirks.

“Fine?”

“More than fine,” she says without hesitation, and then they’re kissing again on the side of the mountain in a small village in rural China, and Sharon is so, so glad to be there. 

…

They take another bumpy, seven hour bus ride, but this time they’re winding through windswept grasslands of yurts and villages of mud and clay and women herding hundreds of sheep with nothing more than a piece of rope.

Sharon and Natasha sit crammed into one seat, feet braced against the seat in front of them and fingers entwined. They chat occasionally and eat from their bags of sesame crackers and momos, but the scenery is so breathtaking that they mostly ride in awestruck silence.

Xiahe well and truly feels like a Tibetan border town. The massive Labrang Monastery sits at the town’s center, and everything else spins out from that. The monks wear robes of deepest red and yellow mohawk hats. Despite the crowds, Sharon feels at peace for the first time in months.

Maybe it’s Xiahe. Maybe it’s the company.

They check into a small, family-run inn with clean, cold sheets on the beds and colorful Tibetan murals painted on the ceilings. There’s a small restaurant on the premises, and Natasha orders an enormous bowl of egg and noodle soup and three plates of momos and a plate of beef stir-fried with carrots and onions. And a pot of tea, of course.

Sharon smiles. “It’s almost as if you expect more company.” 

As if on cue, Steve and Sam appear, each sliding into a free seat - Sam next to Sharon and Steve next to Natasha. 

“Boys,” Natasha says by way of greeting. “Long time no see.”

Sharon studies both Steve and Sam in turn. They’re alert, of course. They have to be. But they manage to exude an aura of happiness all the same.

The thought makes Sharon smile. “You both look good,” she says, and she means it. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy,” Steve starts, and Sam snorts and rolls his eyes.

“If by busy, he means holed up in a pretty little village in Thailand, finally getting a chance to relax for one hot minute.” 

“Hey,” Steve says, but there’s no edge in his voice. “We had to get here too.”

“Okay, that took a while,” Sam concedes, over Natasha encouraging them to “eat while it’s hot.”

Steve helps himself to a pile of momos. “Great scenery though. I almost wish I had a sketchbook.”

Sharon ladles a portion of the egg and noodle soup into her bowl. “I’m sure that can be arranged. You wouldn’t be the only artist ever taken in by the scenery.”

“Right?” Sam flashes a grin. “I’m sure some enterprising soul in this town has opened a shop full of nothing but sketchbooks and good quality pencils.”

“Well, we can do that after dinner,” Steve says through a mouthful of momo.

Sharon nods approvingly. “Food always comes first, whether it be hamburgers or momos.”

“You should start keeping a momo list.” Natasha scoops some stir-fried beef into her bowl. “Sort of like a companion to your hamburger list.”

“We’ll pick her up a notebook and a good quality pencil at that shop we’re supposed to find,” Steve says and pops another momo into his mouth. “Start curating that list right away.”

After dinner, they do manage to find a little closet of a stationery shop, tucked between a shop selling nothing but incense and a shop that appears to traffick solely in a dizzying variety of bottled drinks. Just looking at the bottles of sweet iced tea makes Sharon’s teeth hurt.

Steve buys a sketchbook and a few soft pencils from the stationery shop. Sharon looks everything over carefully and ends up buying a bright pink notepad covered in squishy, cartoon pigs. She probably doesn’t really need it. She probably won’t really curate a list of momo restaurants.

“But who can resist the cartoon pigs?” Natasha asks her, as Sharon tucks the notepad into her bag.

“Right.” Sharon nods. “One day, when I’m telling my grandchildren about that time I was a fugitive hiding out in the Chinese hinterlands, I’ll be sure to focus on the notepad of cartoon pigs.”

“Well, you need to focus on what really counts,” Sam says, and Sharon can’t help but notice that he has plastic bag containing four bottles of iced tea. She hopes he isn’t planning on sharing any of it.

They hike up the hillside to a flat stone terrace overlooking the monastery. Sam works his way through two of the iced tea bottles. Steve actually does some sketching. Sharon and Natasha lean back and catch the late afternoon sun. At some point, Natasha reaches out and gently entwines her fingers with Sharon’s.

They’ll make it, Sharon thinks. It won’t be easy. It will take a lot of time and a lot of work, and who knows where they might end up in the next few weeks or even tomorrow.

But right then and there, in that moment, everything is okay. 

They’ll make it.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> Written for Sororising as part of the Sharon Carter Secret Santa Gift Exchange. They requested Sharon/Natasha, rated gen/teen, with no sex scenes, though kissing/hand holding is cool. Also, Steve/Sam as a side pairing was met with eager approval, which made me very happy.
> 
> I hope you like it, Sororising! This was a lot of fun to write. It ended up double the length than I had originally planned for, as I was having so much fun writing it.
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> I'm digging writing these stories that are really just excuses to write travelogues. Questions, comments, feedback, and suggestions for more travel locations are warmly welcomed, wanted, and hoped for.


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